Evarne returned home that evening with a metaphorical "bit o' grit" having blown in her eye, "in a twinkling of a second--no warning at all." Many a studio had she entered, many an artist had she known, clever, young and attractive, who had been kind and considerate to her, even as Geoffrey Danvers. What quality did he possess in any superlative degree to mark him out from all others? What was there about him that awoke such--well--such a keen and ardent interest in her mind, not only for himself and his work, but for everything with which he was even remotely connected? He had not said or done anything at all original or particularly interesting, yet she found herself dwelling upon his every word, every action, recalling and musing upon his most casual unprofessional glance. Perhaps, after all, the deep and engrossing impression he had made was but the natural outcome of the ardent admiration she had felt for those of his paintings that were still in the studio. Instantly had she realised that here was work of no common order--that there was a combination of charm and of force, an instinct for the dramatic, together with a certain dreamy mysticism, a poetic treatment of daring realism, that could not possibly have been evolved by a banal, uninteresting mind. Surely a man's self can often be better read in his works than by years of ordinary acquaintanceship? When Philia made her usual inquiries regarding the personal appearance of these new employers, Evarne had described Jack Hardy well enough, but her recollection of Geoff was apparently vague. "Well--let me think--he has fair hair, but he is clean-shaven, and he was dressed in light grey." "Yes?" "There is nothing much to tell, really. He is a bit taller than I am--I noticed that when he stood up on the throne to make some alteration in my wreath. When he is working he wears a painting overall of blue linen, which betrays vanity." "Pore young man. Why should yer say that?" "I'm sure he knows the colour suits him. Now, Mr. Hardy only has brown holland." "Is Mr. Danvers good-looking?" Evarne reflected a moment, then temporised. "I thought so," she answered. Days came and passed. A whole week went by, but her mental vision in no way recovered its normal equipoise. "Whatever 'as took yer, Evarne?" inquired Philia at supper one evening, when some blatant act of absent-mindedness proclaimed that her companion's thoughts were far away. "There's no tellin' now what you'll be up to next. You're anticking about jist as if you'd fallen in love."